


Neverland Against The Clock On Your Bedroom Wall

by A_Ghost_Called_Boo



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys: California (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Death, Gen, Minor Injuries, POV Second Person, it's nothing graphic dw, slight unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 08:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30086055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Ghost_Called_Boo/pseuds/A_Ghost_Called_Boo
Summary: They told us we'd grow up to be monsters, but we burned the mattresses and closet doors, then sang on our way home.(Or: sometimes growing up is not an option, so you just grow older instead)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Neverland Against The Clock On Your Bedroom Wall

“I don’t want to grow up.“ you tell the sky. The inky blackness doesn’t answer back, instead gazing down at you through a myriad of pinhole eyes and you wonder whether it can even see you with all the city lights.

“Me neither.“ your friend admits, unsaid words hanging between the two of you until--“Do you think we have to?...“

You don’t answer. You don’t want to risk it being true.

* * *

“Let’s never grow up!“ the red-haired teenager cackles, crashing onto the couch bruised and with still bleeding. Ey looks the happiest you’ve seen em in the years since the four of you met, but that only registers second in your mind, drowned out by the adrenaline thumping in your ears.

“Who said we ever would?“ the oldest of your little group asks, swatting eir legs away and collapsing next to em, smiling from behind the bandana he held up to his eye.

You make a silent pact that day, through gritted teeth and sewn-up cuts. A shared sense that were you ever to begin turning into the people you fought, you’d kick and scream until it bled and you’d be _you_ again.

* * *

“You’ll never get me alive! You’ll never see your baby all grown-up!” you shout back at the man grinning on stage, the words getting lost in the sea of voices around you. Or perhaps they’re only amplified, sorrow and frustration melding together into a collective cry of burning anger, evaporating into the cold night as the singer brings his microphone back to his mouth.

“Try as you might to polish every thought, but my heart still pumps kerosene!“ he declares brash and confident in the chorus of the song- a spark in his eye telling you you are all the same. That under the desert sun no one ever wants to _grow up._

You swear it over and over until _it feels right._ Until you’re the only one who decides what is supposed to be wrong and what is supposed to be right in your life.

* * *

You are twenty-two years old and laying in your own blood. You’re twenty-two and you’ve got a kid and more holes in your chest than you care to count. You are twenty two and you are _dead_ , but you never grew up- only older. And you should feel _bad_ about that. You should feel bad for not making your mum proud or to prove that your dad wasn’t right, _but you don’t_. You could care less about it, in fact.

You are twenty-two and you never grew up; not in any way they will recognize you have, at least

**Author's Note:**

> Broke: i'm a poor nt kid plagued by Disorders™
> 
> Bespoke: i've been plagued by Fall Out Boy and My Chemical Romance, so now i can't express my feelings unless it's at least vaguely homoerotic, theatrical and buried three layers of metaphor deep


End file.
